


With the Sweetness of Brandy on His Tongue

by Anticipatio



Category: Illimat (Board Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Biology, Blow Jobs, Embarrassment, First Time, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Loud Sex, M/M, Multi, Neck Kissing, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Rough Kissing, Shame, Shameless Smut, Teasing, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 05:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17892569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anticipatio/pseuds/Anticipatio
Summary: Dref finds Gable comforting and Travis fascinating. A combination of the two is something else entirely.





	With the Sweetness of Brandy on His Tongue

Dref doesn’t know how he got here.

He knows the physical movements of his body that led him into this scenario, but the logical steps that need to be taken to find oneself in such a situation are beyond him. He’s a man of science, versed in enough religious text to know his place is not under the hand of some living or dead god. He’s good at reasoning. But he _still_ can’t quite understand how he’s _here._

 _Here_ being on the captain’s bed—the zombie of a man is stashed under a covered table in the infirmary _(Sorry, Orimar!)_ for the night for this very reason—back against Gable’s broad chest, clawing at the sheets as Travis kisses him senseless, tasting of alcohol. _Damn it all,_ though, if Dref has any regrets up until this point.

Part of that might be the brandy.

He doesn’t like to drink much, if at all, especially liquor, but someone bought expensive brandy that coated Dref’s tongue in a sweet glaze. He’s definitely not drunk, else he’d be vomiting or passed out in the sickbay. No, he’s just pleasantly warmed to the core and pliant beneath Gable’s exploring hand as they trace over the prominence of his collarbone. 

_(Clavicle; sternal to acromial; his own conoid tuberosity must be pathetic compared to Gable’s, given the prominence of their trapezius; what do they possibly see in him?)_

Travis _must_ retain some of his animal characteristic as a human, too, because the dexterity of his tongue as he swirls it around Dref’s is frankly _absurd._ He has no other experience to compare it to, but he feels like he knows enough about how mouths and tongues work to call what Travis is doing beyond normal human capacity.

 _(Attachment to the hyoid; thousands of papillae; Travis_ must _have more, so many more, and Dref wants to inspect each and every one of them.)_

Despite his best efforts, Dref, unfortunately, needs air to live. Though, Travis doesn’t seem to be having the same problem, sighing into his mouth as they separate. They’re still close, intimately (and uncomfortably?) close. There’s a strand of saliva between their lips that hasn’t yet snapped, not until Travis shoots Dref a wicked smirk, “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Don’t be mean,” Gable scolds, catching their thumb under the collar of his shirt. It’s a thin fabric, threadbare from washing away the blood that always inevitably ends up on it, but it somehow feels stifling to Dref. Gable’s touch is like a slow, molten ooze, matched with the urgent burning coals of Travis’s lips as he begins to nip at Dref’s neck.

“A-ah—It’s f-f-fine—”

“See?” Travis mouths against his trapezius _(so much smaller than Gable’s)_ , just a breath of a word. “He likes to be bullied.”

“Uh— _ah—_ I w-w-wouldn’t s-say _that.”_

Gable scoffs, parroting, “See?” Their fingers cup Dref’s sides, like they want to shield the fragile, quivering viscera that roil with anxiety and _excitement._ Dref almost feels blackout dizzy with the onslaught of affection and care, even from Travis as he ever-so-gently places his hands on Dref’s shoulders.

_(The acromion and coracoid process of his scapula; stabilizing the articulation with the humerus; too many ligaments for comfort; too hard to reliably reanimate.)_

(He wishes his mind would turn off, even for an hour.)

Travis comes back up to bite Dref’s lower lip, hard enough to make him hiss. Hard enough to make him _shiver._ He laves his tongue soothingly over the reddened marks and laughs, _“See?”_

Gable sniffs and snugly fits Dref into their lap. The heat of the space between their thighs on his behind makes his face go so very hot. It’s in this moment that he realizes he’s the subject of a tug-of-war between two beings which he now knows are definitely _not_ of human origin.

Fascinating. _Exhilarating._

Travis starts to run his hands up Dref’s stomach, fingers splaying over the concavity of his abdomen, and Gable doesn’t seem too keen to fall behind. They grope at his hipbones, teasing just under his waistband. They’re both skirting dangerously close to the tenting in Dref’s pants, but seem equally purposeful in avoiding it. For now. The closer they get, the closer Dref feels to actually seizing. 

He doesn’t know if what he’s feeling is panic or arousal, panting against Travis’s smug lips, muscles tense. Very much fight or flight, as it were. But, if he has to decide, the brandy sitting heavy in his belly anchors him to his spot. He can’t control his hands to ‘fight’, though, stuck as they are in the sheets. He doesn’t know what he’d even do with them.

“You’re fine,” Gable breaths, like they can hear his silent internal struggle, “We’ll take care of you.” It’s so saccharine, and he’s reminded of hot liquid sugar, the stuff in the candy shop windows that always seemed to magically turn into taffy. They make him feel like he’s indulging in a forbidden treat. And he might just be right. 

Something in Gable’s sugared voice is soothing the bubbles of anxiety, and they know _exactly_ when they need to speak. Though he still is kind of freaking out internally, it’s not nearly as much as he would have expected under their influence. Still, his head lolls to the side, overwhelmed by Travis as his hands travel up to Dref’s chest. The purred assurances into his ear cease with the punctuation of plush lips firmly against his own. 

Maybe it’s the home brew in their system, or the ever-present undercurrent of angelic residue of their body, but kissing Gable makes Dref’s head go blank. Whereas Travis is bawdy, lapping and smirking against Dref’s lips, Gable is so very elegant and refined—if there is such a way while tonguing into another person’s mouth. It’s definitely less messy, but no less intense. He doesn’t even realize he’s making noises, embarrassing and unbecoming little _‘ah, ah, ah—!’_ s into their mouth, until Gable pulls away to whisper, “Are you okay?”

 _“Yes!”_ he keens, and it’s not even convincing to his own ears. Travis freezes in place and looks up at Dref with dark eyes. Dark as a starless night, and darkened further by their activities. Dref is struck by how beautiful they are, as he is wont to be whenever he’s in this sort of mood: longing, wanderlust, buzzed, some hellish mix of the three, whatever it is. He’s terrified, of this scenario and of the people involved and of himself, but chance and fate have led him here, staring into the black holes of Travis’s gorgeous, dangerous eyes.

Besides, it’s the first time he’s felt like this since he was Jonnit’s age, and it’d be a shame to let it go to waste when his good buddies are offering to help. 

He’ll have to examine his actual feelings about the event later. Maybe never, if he can help it.

“Y-yes, I’m f-f-f- _fine!_ I-I want… hmmn.” He swallows down the gnarled knot that pounds in his throat, just under the swell of his Adam’s apple.

_(Laryngeal prominence; protective layer over the larynx; thickened with age and puberty; his voice is so deep, deeper than is appropriate for someone of his size and stature.)_

Dref closes his eyes, and then opens them, peering down into those lovely voids, “I trust you two.”

He smiles weakly. He doesn’t have a kind smile. It makes his bedside manner atrocious, and Dref’s been told that it’s hard to tell when he’s happy. But Gable, who can’t even see his face from their angle, murmurs, “What a pretty boy. I like this side of you.”

Travis resumes his explorations, letting the calloused surfaces of his fingertips drag over Dref’s nipples. It makes him jolt and arch, which just _tickles_ Travis. “Yes, yes,” he mutters impatiently, speaking over the shocked gasps he draws out with scratching nails, “We all like that Dref is a sappy drunk. This is fun.” He turns his gaze towards Gable, no less heated than when it’s aimed at Dref. “You should try it.”

Dref twists and complains, “I’m n-n-not d- _drunk.”_ He opens his mouth again to defend himself, but Gable takes on Travis’s advice and takes one of Dref’s nipples between their fingers, over his shirt, with a deft roll that makes him squeak. It somehow feels more obscene through the thin fabric, and Dref can’t stop the instinctual twitch of his legs trying to snap shut around Travis.

The response he gets makes Dref’s heart pound. Travis shoots him a lecherous grin, bright teeth shining and lips kiss-swollen, with eyes that promise something decidedly unholy. It’s enough of a sinful look to make Gable grip him more tightly to their chest, protective. But they don’t stop the dancing skip of Travis’s hands over Dref’s body. He leaves sparks that send his nerves into overdrive until they burn over the shallow V of his hips.

_(Iliac furrow; line formed by the iliac crest and—)_

And then, time feels like it stops, and the winds shift so suddenly that it leaves Dref with vertigo as Travis palms over his erection. With Gable occupying themself with his chest, rougher now with Travis’s lead, Dref finds himself moaning out more embarrassing sounds, further unfurling the anxiety in his throat. His hands reach to claw uselessly at Gable’s legs, so long and solid around him. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel with his rear against their crotch—bulging flesh? Seeping wetness? Both? _Nothing?—_ but they meet the rhythm of his little rocks into Travis’s hand and suddenly he can’t focus enough to actually feel anything beyond the smoldering under his skin.

_(E-epidermis—)_

Travis is so impatient, contrasting so much with Gable’s calming murmurs as he tugs restlessly at Dref’s pants. “Isn’t it great?” they sigh, and Dref knows that they’re watching from over his shoulder as Travis reveals his aching hardness. He himself can’t watch; he has to look away. His eyes screw shut and he whines high in his trachea, overwhelmed by the intensity and embarrassment of the situation. It doesn’t help—makes it worse, if anything, because now he doesn’t realize Travis is reaching to touch him until he actually _does._

“ _A-ah!_ Ah— _mmnn!_ ” Dref’s eyes flutter open for just long enough to cross. There’s a warm, roughened hand curling into a loose fist around his— _damn it,_ even just _thinking_ about the words to describe the situation makes him flush harder, embarrassed, under the aroused ruddiness of his cheeks. He bites his lip, but the steady flow of wordless mewling with each slow pump of Travis’s fist doesn’t stop. Every one of his senses pleasantly muddle together in a way that he never was able to reach himself. All it took was Travis deftly twisting his wrist as he… he… 

He stops. Gable, too. Dref pants and slumps. He doesn’t have the brainpower left to do much but whine his disappointment as he spares a glance down. Gable’s the one stopping Travis, grabbing his wrist. They shush his complaints even though he had no intention of vocalizing them beyond his pitiful noises, nipping at the sensitive skin below his ear, “I think there was something Travis wanted to do.”

Whatever look they give Travis makes him lose composure, just for a second, trembling under their powerful watch. Dref sucks in a sharp breath though his nose. “Isn’t that right?” they murmur over his shoulder. Travis takes a second to come back to himself and sighs dramatically, _“Of course,_ how silly of me to forget.”

It makes him nervous when they do things like this. Specifically, when they all agree to do something without consulting him first. It usually ends in disaster and makes him eager to avoid involving himself in the situation at all costs, even if his role is key.

This is very different.

Travis scooches back some, far enough that Dref is worried that he’s just going to run off until he ducks his head. Dref’s world goes suddenly, startlingly narrow, focused entirely on those unending eyes and the softness of Travis’s skin as he nuzzles Dref’s length. He’s not aware that he’s holding his breath until Gable sighs, _“Breathe.”_ His panting rattles with little anticipatory whimpers, increasing in desperation. Travis looks amused—when _doesn’t_ he?—but the pre-ejaculate smearing on his cheek highlights his underlying arousal, peeking through in his lidded eyes and quickened breaths.

And then, from Dref’s side, Gable’s hand appears. They reach out and cradle Travis’s head, curling their fingers into his hair. He’s only given a moment to enjoy their soft touch before their grip tightens. Dref watches, transfixed, stuck in place, as Gable guides Travis’s head until his lips—hot, so hot, and so unexpectedly _soft—_ brush against his shaft.

Their little performance ends abruptly with Travis broadly licking a burning trail up Dref’s length, undaunted by the twist of fingers in his hair. Dref cries out and arches, hips jerking out of his control. Gable snaps their free hand down to hold him down against their lap, which is _totally_ fine if it means Dref can settle against the otherworldly heat between their legs.

Whatever wicked things Travis did with his tongue when they kissed are doubly sinful now, sending Dref into little fits of gasps and moans. He knows he should be embarrassed by the sheer volume of his noises and his sudden lack of restraint, but every time he thinks to apologize or stifle his voice, Travis does something to Dref to white-out his thoughts.

Like take the head between his lips.

_Oh._

Dref is mortified to find out that his stutter is no less prominent when he’s overcome with babbling moans. Gable smiles into his neck and coos, “Isn’t he so precious, Travis?” Travis responds with a hum that makes Dref choke on a garbled plea. He’s starting to sink slowly, taking little by little into his silky mouth in an _agonizing_ pace.

Aaand he stops. _Again._

Dref outright groans his frustration, twitching helplessly against Gable and tossing his head back onto their shoulder. And Gable, damn them, _laughs_ against the shell of his ear. “Patience,” they say, and Dref swears he’ll strangle them if they mention something about virtues. _“Patience,”_ they repeat, and Travis makes a soft sound from below, drawing Dref’s attention.

He’s uncharacteristically vulnerable looking, hair caught in Gable’s hand and his lips looking wet and reddened by the things he’s done. But there’s still a smug smile to his eyes, sparkling up at Dref.

Then Gable pushes his head down. All the way.

Travis gurgles obscenely with the sudden intrusion as his throat flutters. His eyes lose their clever sharpness, wide and unfocused. With his hair and his clothes ruffled, he looks disastrous, not at all like the quick sweet-talker Dref is used to seeing. He’s beautiful. 

Dref only gets a moment to his thoughts as he takes in the scene, though, because he’s suddenly struck with the sensation of _hot_ and _wet_ and _tight_ engulfing his length.

_“Oh.”_

Whatever’s going on in Dref’s head screeches to a halt. His hands finally find the courage to scrabble into Travis’s hair on either side of Gable’s, eliciting a soft moan that Dref can _feel_ so acutely that he thinks he might pass out. His orgasm feels like a sharp crackle of electricity shooting up his spine and making his core muscles contract. And when Travis _swallows_ around him… Well, if Dref had been hyperbolic in thinking that he’d faint moments ago, he’s deathly serious now.

He doesn’t know if he can blame the brandy for the way it feels like the world shifts beneath him as he comes to from the intense peak he found himself. His vision is far too clear and there’s not nearly enough nausea sunken in his belly to make that true. Travis slides back, and Dref can’t help but focus sharply where his mouth hangs agape, pooling semen on the glistening figure of his tongue.

_(Hardly any sperm; mostly sugars with some organic and inorganic compounds commonly found in the human body; extraordinary in its ability to maintain the viability of sperm in an environment as hostile to it as the human vagina.)_

He swallows thickly, making a show of it. “Well, then,” Travis rasps, voice husky. He quips like he isn’t hoarse from performing fellatio and like he doesn’t have an impressive tent in his pants. Gable removes their hand from his hair and he bats Dref’s away. “You know I’m not one to lie—”

Gable scoffs.

 _“—about matters like these._ So I must admit that it’s truly fascinating to have a human like _you,_ Dref-y boy.”

Dref sputters dumbly as he tries to find his voice in the sex-fogged atmosphere of the room. Gable beats him to a response, though, with their sigh more exasperated than aroused now that Travis seems to have rekindled his ego, “Like how?”

“Virginal, but so sure in what he wants.” Dref can’t be imagining the feral edge to his grin, how his canine teeth seem so sharp as they tug at his bottom lip with excitement. “Though, I guess not virginal anymore, depending on what you count as—”

“If I recall, we were the ones doing all of the wanting.”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you can’t _see.”_

Whenever Travis does this—the whole ‘cryptic skyfaring scoundrel’ thing—there’s always a coldness to the air. His uncanny ability to read the tides of fate in abstract yet uncannily accurate ways makes everyone’s hairs stand on edge. But, this time, the heat laden in his words saturates down to Dref’s bones and makes his liquidized brain stir with future promises.

Gable’s legs shift around Dref, and he’s once again fixating on the humid warmth between their thighs. They sound neutral, but the side of their mouth presses the corner of a smile into Dref’s cheek, “I suppose this is something we’d need to discuss further—“

The door rattles. That in itself shouldn’t be noteworthy with the creaking age of the ship. But, then, the three of them keenly hear a muffled, “ _Damn it!_ ” from behind the solid wood that _no one_ dares to approach.

Unless they’re in on the ruse.

 _“Jonnit.”_ Travis hisses.

Gable sighs, “Don’t traumatize him.” Dref thinks they might be talking about both Jonnit and himself.

His legs are jelly, and his arms only marginally better, but Dref’s embarrassed enough to find the energy he needs to pull his pants up with shaking hands. He’s barely presentable when Travis pulls the door open, and even then he’s still too conspicuous in Gable’s lap. Maybe if he barfs they’ll all be too busy with that to notice him slip away.

Jonnit looks… well, like a teenager who just overheard three people involved in sexual activity. Flushed, wide-eyed, frazzled, and—Dref looks away, out of respect for his dignity. 

“Something we can help you with?” Travis asks casually, despite having a debauched look about him.

“I-I-I didn’t see any of you at dinner,” Jonnit stammers, and his voice cracks towards the end of his sentence. Poor kid. “I thought that you were having a secret meeting without me again or—or—!”

Travis clearly doesn’t have the same sympathy that Dref has for the situation, sighing dramatically, “As you can _clearly_ see, we were engaging in—”

Gable glares, “ _Travis._ ” Dref wants to die. He wonders if the fall into the sea is painful.

Jonnit fidgets with his shirt, far too large for his slight frame. Probably for the best, now. “Look, I didn’t see nothing! I-I’ll just—” he starts to back away, punctuating his speech with every step back, “—leave—you—to that!”

Travis slams the door and hops back onto the bed. He’s not a large person, and with Gable weighing it down, the mattress doesn’t bounce so much as quiver under his weight. But he acts like _he’s_ the center of attention, preening under Dref and Gable’s combined gazes, like he’d just made some grand re-entry. “Now,” he murmurs, crawling up to Dref to peck at the underside of his jaw, “Where were we?”

The affection makes Dref’s body warm, but the pieced-together bits of his anxiety gnaw at the edges of his blooming lust, “Should we _really_ be, uh—"

“I can’t possibly see why not.” He draws a line up Gable’s arm, and even that tiny brush of contact makes them lean into the touch. Dref can feel how hot their chest is on his back, like a blazing inferno cradling him. “We did get rid of the pest, after all.”

Gable protests with an annoyed grunt, despite their apparent interest, “He’s not a _pest._ ”

Travis ignores Gable. “Besides,” he smiles, pushing a beat of warmth into Dref’s jugular, “I have so many _ideas…_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Oops! I porned!
> 
> Here's the thing: I'm basically Dref. I was born with a speech impediment that still trips me up even though Fergie's mom helped me manage it (long story). I'm fascinated by death and biology (and wanted to be a medical examiner or mortician at several points in my life). I would absolutely be a necromancer given the opportunity. but I also have crippling social and generalized anxiety, I get nauseous when I'm anxious, and I am sensitive to seeing human suffering and gore. 
> 
> So I basically wrote this as if it was a self-insert. Hopefully it was a good read!


End file.
